Pavlova: Not supposed to taste like sweet, warm egg?

Look at me, posting and shit. (Oh, I swear. Did you forget that? Sorry.)

I was quite the baker over the Christmas period. That sounded like a brag, but I didn't mention what kind of baker I was. 

Insert random photo of BR and I in front of our Christmas tree. That shit's hard to capture in a selfie.

"Behold, my large festive indoor plant!"

It all started when my Mum said 'Can you bring desserts this year, I can't be bothered. And you are the only one who cares about dessert so it's on you.' With that kind of enthusiasm, what could I say. Only dear Mum could get away with that.

Cue a week later, and Bill's Mum calls. 'Could you bring desserts to Christmas lunch? I'm not much into sweet things, and you made that thing last time so well.'

1. I appreciate the flattery, it will get you everywhere
2. 'That thing' I made last time was a flipping Chocolate Ripple Cake. I don't have the heart to tell her how easy it is. It's better that she thinks I'm the amazing dessert wizard.

I'm an eager to please butthole sometimes, and I also overestimate my actual kitchen skills, and lack a healthy respect for what can actually get done in the space of a day. 

Did I just buy one of those pav bases like everyone else? Or did I buy one of those stupid looking egg things, that my Mum always seems to have banging around her cupboard despite never actually making the pav herself? 

NO OF COURSE I DIDN'T.  I decided (and touted to everybody, unwisely) that I could do it all myself, from scratch.

So this is how I ended up taking on the responsibility of baking the following for Christmas day:

1. Large pavlova for my family (to feed 15)
2. Large pavlova for Bill's family (to feed 11)
3. Christmas cookie platter x2
4. Fruit platter x2
5. Alcholic chocolate ripple cake
6. Christmas bark for part of Christmas gift 
7. Butterscotch Pie (also known as the devils pie; finicky, has a million ingredients, and is a much treasured tradition read: don't fuck it up)
8. Non alcoholic kids chocolate ripple cake

Far out, brussel sprout. How do I get myself into this. Also: I began all of this at 9pm Christmas Eve. 

Pav 1 (Test Pav)

Verdict: I pored over the Donna Hay recipe book to meticulously make the first meringue. It ended up with weird sugary bits on the bottom, whatevs. I can hide a multitude of sins with cream. After spending so much time on the meringue, I rested on my laurels and managed to fuck up whipping cream. Seriously?! So I put some raspberries on, to try and distract. No such luck. Cream was clearly separated. Fucking cream, trust it to pull this shit. You had one job cream.

Also, the recipe said to wait until it was cold to taste test. But your rules can't control me Donna Hay! So I taste tested while the pav was warm...and it tasted like wet, sweet, warm egg white omelettes. With strawberries. Makes me gag a little thinking about it. 


Pav 2

Much better. Except the pavlova weeped, and the baking paper is completely stuck to the bottom. So what did I do? Just cut around that shit so no one can see it. Let them deal with it upon eating. By then they've already got it in their bowls and can't put it back! Genius. Then threw a bunch of fruit on to distract from the paper. I learnt that from Constantino. 

I made this cake for morning tea today with my sister in law.

It's a big deal, but I've gone and done it: I'm adding a new rule to feminism.

Of course the old ones still stand; Women should be able to vote, have the right to control their own bodies, shouldn't slut shame other women.....but today, I've added a new one.

Don't ask a woman who has baked for you if said baked goods come from a packet mix. Don't be that woman.

Basically, if I assembled the ingredients and stirred it, I baked it. Lovingly. 

And of course it is from a packet mix you silly bird. But I don't want to tell you that, because once again you should acknowledge that I am the amazing dessert wizard.

I turned my back and this guy had managed to eat the chocolate melts I left on the coffee table.

He only pulls robust shit like that because he knows he is adorable.

So there you have it. Baking fails and successes, and a pug who is currently trying to get pity from me because his belly hurts from eating far too many melts. Trust me, it will only last an hour max. Then he'll go back to trying to eat the chair leg. 

I wish I was joking.